


Cosmic Love

by boobearwantshishazza



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, M/M, Pining Sam, Weecest, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-02-02
Packaged: 2018-03-10 03:16:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3274646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boobearwantshishazza/pseuds/boobearwantshishazza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's always been the fire. Not the demons. Not the angels. Not anything else they've hunted. It's always been the fire that brought the most pain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cosmic Love

_The stars, the moon, they have all been blown out_

_You left me in the dark_

_No dawn, no day, I'm always in this twilight_

_In the shadow of your heart_

_I took the stars from my eyes and then I made a map_

_And knew that somehow I could find my way back_

_Then I heard your heartbeating, you were in the darkness too_

_So I stayed in the darkness with you_

_\---------------------------------------_

You weren't even a year old when everything you had ever known erupted into flames. And he carried you out. He cradled you like you meant more to him than anything in the world. And you did. You do. You weren't even a year old when everything you had ever loved went up in smoke. And there were sparks caught in his hair and ash on his cheeks.

That's the only thing you still remember from anything that happened until you were three and he was pushing you on a swing set in swing set in Palo Alto and it felt like everything would begin and end there another time.

Then you were five and he was kissing you on the cheek after breakfast everyday before his walk to school. Sometimes he left cereal residue and slobber but it was love and it ten times more affection than anyone else had ever shown you. You attempted to mirror him and kiss his cheek before he left each day but he was too tall and he thought it was dangerous for you to stand on a chair because you might fall. You refused to listen and ended up with a fractured wrist and an older brother mumbling over and over about it being his fault. You remember him saying _My job is to protect him and I failed. How am I supposed to keep him safe from all the monsters, when he seems to love this one._

You are seven when someone clarifies you only love him and that you aren't in love with him. And you ask what the difference is. The only love you had ever known is the one for him. You ignore them and continue to say you're in love with him. Until daddy steps in and sets his half-empty whiskey bottle next to the others and spits at you and tells you there is no way he raised an incestuous fag. The rest of the words slew together and you go to bed with wet eyes and bloody cheeks and your back to your brother ignoring his sighs at your refusal for affection.

At thirteen, you sneak out with him to an empty field on the fourth of July. The two of you light up the sky and the fireworks shoot straight up to the stars and now whenever you look at them, you know he put them there. You smile at him and he smiles at you and he kisses you on the head and tells you he loves you. You sigh in content and tell him you do too. And then your nose are almost touching and you keep glancing at his lips and then his eyes and when you lean in, he leans away and sets off another firework. This one is isn't as beautiful and the crack doesn't sound like a symphony, it sounds like a war and the elegance of it all starts to fade. You hear your father's words rush into your head and you tell him you want to go home.

Two years pass, filled with lanky boys with mile long legs, family secrets, and the understanding of the words rejection and dejection. They are kisses shared in the janitor closets at schools you don't bother getting to know the name of with girls you don't bother getting to know the name of. And when your father sat you down and asked what happened to that innocent little boy from Kansas with a heart as big as the state and enough innocence to match a class of kindergarteners you slapped his cheek purple and told him to never ask again because that boy was long gone so he's just going to have to go ahead and love this one (and love is a strong word; respect is enough). But the truth was that boy died when he had to learn the monsters under his bed were real and nightmares are things he must conquer himself. That boy died long before his smile disappeared.

You wanted to be like your older brother because he was confident and fearless. He laughed during horror movies because he had gotten close enough to dive a blade into things that would scare the shimmering vampires and glassy-eyed werewolves into peril. You just wanted to be like him because he was everything you were not. He was comfortable in his skin and filled out his figure. He knew the right things to say to the right people. He was the right kind of wrong and the wrong kind of right. But no matter what you did it never amounted.

And one night when you where sixteen and had a terrible habit of breaking your poker face to push your shaggy hair out of your face, he confronted you. He asks you what happened to that boy he loved. The one who stumbled over his own two feet and smiled too widely. What happened to his baby brother. And even though he meant the love in a familiar way, it meant everything to you. You didn't slap his cheek the red like your favorite t-shirt (the one you stole out of his bag when he wasn't looking; it was soft and smelled like home) you just peeled off the leather jacket and pulled a green sweatshirt that smelled like raw vanilla and strawberry and he told you he had worn it few times so it didn't feel lonely. And it was the dumbest thing you had ever heard but you laughed all the same because he said it so sincerely and you thanked him with a kiss on the cheek. But that was a mistake because kisses were for nine year old boys that carved their initials into the only thing they were allowed to keep after the fire beside a pile of clothes and their interwoven bond.

And so he didn't talk to you for twelve days except to ask you to stop staring at him and shoot the damn monster. The ride after the hunt you filled the silence with apologizes to no one in particular and then he interrupted you and you hoped he was going to say it was okay and let you fold yourself into his lap because it had been days but it felt like years and your skin was itching and your chest felt cold but instead he asked your father if he could have his own room this time around because _I've outgrown sharing a motel room with my father and my brother and if I need some me time with myself and maybe a girl or two I shouldn't have to worry about either of you two a few feet away watching the news_ and that was that.

And then he looked at you and told you he was going to cut your hair the next day. And he did. You let him. Because if it meant seven minutes in a room alone with him. It was enough. He spent the whole time babbling on about how dumb you looked with long hair but when it was all done you looked even worse so he promised he would never it again. But you didn't care because either way you were talking to him again and you were almost positive there was fond in his eyes every time he looked at you.

When you were eighteen, you were tired of not having a home and you used to think it was him but lately the walls have been crumbling and the paints chipping and this home can't be fixed without years of works and you no longer have the patience. You want to make something of yourself other than a pining fool.

So you leave everything you've ever known for the second time but this time it’s the flames that send you back to them. You loved her and she burned. And he carried you out. He cradled you like you meant more to him than anything in the world. And you did. You do. You loved her and she went up in smoke. And there were sparks caught in his hair and ash on his cheeks. And it was the most inappropriate time to thank God you still had him. You remember being three years old and there was the eerie feeling that you had been right because your love for him had dissipated when you got there three years ago and your old life burned when he returned. He must of thought you were in shock when you stared blankly out the window for five hours straight on the car ride away from the singed building. But you were just thinking how incredibly screwed you were.

You were twenty-three when you tried to run away again but he knew before you did and hid the keys to the car and cruised up to you after an hour of walking for you and twenty minutes of driving for him. He honked twice and asked if you needed a ride and you climbed in the backseat and that was the only time you didn't sit next to him. He took notice and he frowned for a good four minutes before raising his façade and driving off towards nowhere just like always.

At twenty-four you asked him if you the two of you could rent a house near a lake because you can't catch fire when you're wet. And he didn't answer and you were worried you had upset him but then he grinned and told you he would rather buy it. And you two had a spice garden and you met up with the other housewives in the neighborhood every Wednesday for bridge and he was taught by the tall man next door how to grill hamburgers without burning them and you would speed home during your lunch breaks sometimes and spend your sixty minutes baking him a pie for when he returned from the shop he proudly owned. It was everything you ever wanted and more. And then he started to kiss you on the cheek again and then on the nose and on the lips and on the neck and on the chest and on the kneecaps and on the thighs and on the wrists and the pads of your fingerprints he kissed all the skin he could get to and you knew you would never let him set fire. Because you had cried enough over him to fill an ocean and that would be enough to put it out.

You were twenty-nine when he died and you watched him burn. You loved him and he burned. Everything you had ever known erupted into flames. And he screamed. He screamed so painstakingly loud and whimpered for help. He cried for you to leave. To get out of there. He told you to save yourself. That you deserved to live. You just looked up at him and smiled. The blood from his chest pooled in your clavicle and you told him you loved him more than anything in the world. And you did. And you do. You loved him and he went up in smoke. And there were sparks caught in his hair and ash on his cheeks. And you told him you weren't going anywhere because he had once said the love you both shared could give Bonnie and Clyde a run for their money. And as the flames enveloped you, you told him _You go I go, remember?_ And that was it.

You weren't even a year old when _almost_ everything you had ever known erupted into flames and he carried you out because you meant everything to him and you did and you still do because you were his and he was yours. Sam was Dean's. Dean was Sam's And that was just the way it was.


End file.
